The Hammer was tired of playing the backbeat. The answers were right there in front of him and it was so maddeningly close to him he could feel it brushing his fingertips. Professor Longbaugh didn't have any more to say after leaving the infirmary, instead silently leading Harry to the office. The only words he spoke were "Butterscotch Dandies", the new password to the gargoyle. Once inside, Harry took a seat in the familiar chair across the desk. After sitting down, he felt Longbaugh's hand on his shoulder,
"Good luck, kid." The Professor said before turning to leave, the sound of his boots clicking on the stones fading away down the stairs. After he left, the Hammer heard the grinding of the gargoyle sliding back into place, leaving him shut up alone in the room again. Looking for the hat on the shelf, he found its stand empty. Some time later, a door at the far end of the room behind the desk opened and Dumbledore stepped out of it, a large red bird sitting on his shoulder. The bird studied Harry sidelong before taking flight from the old man to a perch in a recessed area.
"Ah, Harry. I'm disappointed to see you again so soon in circumstances such as these."
"Chief." The Hammer acknowledged him. Dumbledore made his way over to his chair and took a seat. The Headmaster seemed much older than the last time Harry had seen him, the lines on his face more sunken, his gait a little more like what the Hammer expected from someone his age.
"I'm told Professor Longbaugh found you as well as Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Granger in the remains of the second floor women's lavatory."
"Yep."
"This was after you three had slipped away from your houses and your prefects chasing after..?" He left a pregnant pause.
"Not a mountain troll, for one."
"Then why did you put yourselves in danger?"
"Because the people you're playing chess against made a move for the package you're protecting. At this point, I'm convinced everyone knows where in the house it is, Chief."
"As I said, we are doing our utmost to protect it."
"You know what, I'm tired of the lies and misdirection. I'll lay out all my cards on the table if you do the same. That sound like a fair shake, Chief?"
Dumbledore raised both of his bushy white eyebrows, looking at Harry quizzically, "I suppose that sounds like a fair trade. I assume you want me to go first, Mr. Potter?" His tone was more amused than condescending. It was the mirth of old age.
"No, I can go first. I bet I can nail one or two things to the wall before you even spot them."
Dumbledore leant back in his chair, clasping his hands together, the tilt of his plump purple hat begging others to not take him so seriously, "Do go ahead then."
"Some time before I turned 11 you were given a package to protect. So you did the reasonable thing and put it into a Gringotts vault. Probably not even the London Gringotts just to be sure; maybe you moved it around some so no one could find it. Eventually you moved it to the London branch of Gringotts and let it rest for just long enough that you can retrieve it because you knew I was about to come of age and whether or not Ol' Voldy was still around, some mook was going to come after it." Dumbledore nodded in silence.
"From there, Chief, you brought the thing here. Not you, but we know who you have as cat's paws. So you stick it in the third floor room up there behind a magic guard dog and who knows what else to keep it safe, but you announce it at the start of term so anyone even vaguely in the know can figure it out. That put me in the position of evaluating students and staff as likely culprits - but if it was a student they'd have to be extremely skilled in the art of sneaking around, which really only leaves the Weasley twins or a member of the staff. So I figure it has to be a teacher."
Dumbledore continued to look on with a twinkle in his eye and a practiced poker face.
"So which teacher? Someone that would betray you on the inside just to get a chance to get at me. That's why you want to keep me around. But I got it pegged that it's either Snape or Quirrell."
"Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell." Dumbledore corrected him, shifting in his seat to lean his elbows on the desk, hands still clasped. The Hammer took it as a tell.
"Yeah, well one of those two hates my birth father for some reason and hates me just as much. The other seems to be wandering to muddy somewheres that don't have dirt patterns that match the exterior of the school grounds. So the only thing left is to figure out what it is."
The Hammer took out the crumpled chocolate frog card and slid it portrait side down across the desk, "Which is where Nicholas Flamel comes in, Chief. I've got it on good authority that you've got an alchemical artifact locked away in there and it might be something as powerful as the Philosopher's Stone. So what is it you're hiding, Chief? What's so damn important that one of those two gunsels might've brought in a troll to murder students so he'd have a chance to make a play for it?"
Dumbledore's expression had shifted from a placid, amused mask to a graven, serious one as he picked up the trading card and looked at the writing. His eyes looked old and terribly sad.
"It is an artifact which has the power to resurrect Voldemort and restore him to physical form, Harry." There was a wistful edge to his voice. So it was the Philosopher's Stone.
"Call me the Hammer."
"Blunt force and dogged resolve won't always help you solve your problems, Harry. I've been bearing the brunt of responsibility for this object, but also for your upbringing here at Hogwarts. There are things much larger than this that you haven't been told yet - things that you cannot understand now. There are patterns larger than you, larger than me, larger than just this school which are at work so won't you consider letting this sleeping dog lie for the time being?"
"I can't, Chief. Not when everything is being run by an old man playing chess - trying to keep his friends close and his enemies as close as he can without bringing him back from the dead."
Dumbledore leaned back into his chair again with eyes closed before wiping at their corners with his suddenly frail looking hands.
"Harry, believe me when I say that all I want for you is that you should be able to enjoy your life and your youth without all of this trouble about being the rumoured chosen one, the Dark Lord, prophecies, or a larger war between good and evil. Yet time and time again you've chosen to interfere, to pry, or to simply batter your way in. I'm forced to give you additional detention for this latest infraction. All of you this time. Ms. Granger, Mr. Longbottom, and yourself will serve a detention with Hagrid after the winter holidays. And Harry," He replaced the spectacles on his ancient face, "If you were planning on staying here over the break? Don't. You'll be going home to your aunt Petunia."
The Hammer sat back down into the chair, his weight pushing the air out of the cushions like a dying wheeze. He had been planning on staying to keep researching the case. Before he could argue, Dumbledore spoke again, "Don't, Harry. This is for your own good as well as the school's. Take the time to enjoy your vacation. Relish your youth. Cherish your friends and family. You never know how long you'll have with them." The Chief's voice was heavy with the wisdom of age, "You're free to leave, Harry. Please pass on my decision to the other two."
The Hammer wanted to open his mouth and keep arguing, but something in his gut stilled his tongue. He sighed a deep and heavy sigh before getting up from the chair, leaving the Chief alone again.
The weeks passed and winter came, covering Hogwarts in a blanket of white as the staff began decorating for the season. Hagrid had brought a dozen trees up to the Great Hall and the other professors had helped him to bedeck them and the walls with cheery decorations. The Hammer found himself hanging out with the Weasley twins and their brother, Ron, in the great Hall during some of their downtime - the Hall was kept as one of the warmest rooms in the school at all times and much to Harry's chagrin, the airiness of the Ravenclaw tower only lent to a freezing atmosphere. Harry had found out all the Weasley children would be staying at the school over break because their parents were going to Romania to visit their brother Charlie - a dragonologist from their description. Still mulling over the case in the back of his mind, the Hammer was happy to let Ron talk about everything from Charlie's work to how Gryffindor was doing in quidditch that season. He was immensely proud of their victory over Slytherin in the first game of the year.
Hermione came into the hall half an hour before dinner and handed him a folded piece of paper before sitting down. Opening it up, he found that she had written an address and phone number on it.
"What's this?" He asked.
"My telephone number and address, obviously." She said with a roll of her eyes.
"What's a tee-lay-phon?" Asked Ron.
Harry explained the basics of how a telephone worked to him and Hermione invited him to the Muggle Culture Club at the end of it.
"Why're you giving me your number?" The Hammer asked, oblivious.
"Because Owls are conspicuous and you don't have one. That and mum and dad have invited you and your family over to our house for Christmas dinner."
"Oh! O.K! I'll have to talk to mum and dad about it - maybe we can have them chat with your parents at King's Cross when we get back?" They held a smile between each other long enough for the twins to start making kissy noises. The two turned a shade of scarlet and looked away from each other, mumbling any nonsense as soon as it came to them.
Eventually, the rest of their peers arrived for dinner.
On the final day of term, Professor McGonagall handed out an informational letter at breakfast and addressed the crowd informing them that, as students, they were expressly forbidden from using magic at home until they were 17 years old.
"How would they even know?" Harry asked.
"The Trace, of course." Padma Patil answered him.
"What is that?"
"It's a spell they've got on all the magical children in Britain. It doesn't break til you turn 17. That's how they make sure you're not using magic at home." She replied.
"Are you kidding me? We all have-" He was shushed as the Professor continued her announcements in regards to the holidays. The Hammer was mad, but he pushed the matter aside. There had to be a way to get the spell removed early.
Once they were released, the Hammer had packed up his trunk and carried it down the stairs after him with the levitation spell, locking it and leaving it with the pile of others that were bound for the holiday express home out of the Hogsmeade station. From there he joined his fellow Ravenclaws at the table, taking his usual seat but feeling more eyes and rumour-laced whispers about him. His loss of more house points than most people could gather in a reasonable amount of time hadn't made him the favourite of anyone other than the current competition leader Slytherin; but after the violent outburst with Malfoy followed by the slaying of a mountain troll no one wanted to risk his ire. Instead, they were content on building his legend in ways that were nigh nonsensical to the Hammer. Some of the word on the street portrayed him still as Ravenclaw's favourite for how often they had seen him interacting with Helena's ghost, while others had taken a more macabre light in attributing his vanquishing of the troll to vampirism. The mention of the latter had lost some Gryffindors house points when they spoke of it in the presence of a visibly shaken Professor Quirrell. Harry's favorite rumour was that someone had dosed him with that tainted batch of Felix Felices and this was the rotten luck manifesting itself.
The Hammer shrugged and enjoyed his tea, talking to Neville over his shoulder about his holiday plans. His Hufflepuff compatriot didn't look very enthused to be going home, but he had expressed his relief that there would be a few weeks in his life without having to fight monsters. Or Professors. The only thing the Hammer wanted was for him to stand up for himself with his Gran.
The three of them left Hogwarts together, boarding the holiday train home and settling into a carriage. As enjoyable as it was to feel the weight of the school's surroundings lifted off his shoulders, the Hammer was still ruminating on the case. It was like being told to turn in your badge and gun and go on administrative leave. Without any means to make progress, Harry gave his best attempt at enjoying his vacation even with the feeling of contempt about the Trace still in his mind.
Coming back to the King's Cross station was a shock to the senses - the smell of gasoline exhaust from London in general and the sound of motor traffic was a welcome change from the countryside peace of the school grounds. Grant and Petunia were waiting for him near the cafe they had breakfasted at back in September. Aside from them there seemed to be a lot of other muggle parents who couldn't find their way to Platform 9 ¾ proper. The Hammer had emerged with a small gaggle of other muggle-raised children, but spotted and was spotted by his parents immediately: after all, he was the only one dressed like Bogart in the crowd.
Grant urged Petunia forward as they closed the distance and she knelt down to hug him.
"Welcome back, Harry." She spoke into his ear.
"It's good to be back." He replied, letting go of his mum to receive a hug from his father.
Grant looked like he had a few more grey hairs since Harry had last seen him, but Petunia was still as comely as ever - an extra aura of loveliness that the Hammer finally parsed as being the result of a perfectly crafted and refined decoction. The results were captivating and for a moment he wondered if any of Lily's talent had passed on to him. It was a shame about how it reacted to muggle physiology.
"I have to admit," Grant said, standing up, "receiving that first letter from school when you got there was kind of frightening when the owl wouldn't leave."
"What did you do?" Harry asked.
"I had to go get a slice of chicken from the refrigerator to feed it once I saw what you had written. I think it was rather annoyed." They laughed at the anecdote, Harry looking around in the crowd to the other parental reunions and seeing Hermione with hers. He led them over, introducing the Grangers blindly, "So this is my friend Hermione and I suppose these are her parents."
"Tom and Fiona," the older Grangers smiled, shaking hands with the two Masons. "Grant and Petunia."
"So our little Hermione has been telling us that Harry's quite the student. Developed a bit of a reputation, from what I understand." Grant took a quick look down at the Hammer, an eyebrow raised in question.
"Harry's written home about Hermione as well - he's been saying how she's one of the only people in school who knew what he was talking about when it came to conducting an investigation and American detective movies."
The adults shared knowing looks before descending into pleasantries and in depth introductions like what they did for a living and how bad the commute was in London.
"Mr. And Mrs. Granger," Harry interrupted when the opportunity presented itself, "Hermione tells me that you wanted to extend an invitation to my mum and dad?"
"Oh, right, thank you, Harry." Harry mumbled his usual request to the side as an automatic reaction, but this time Hermione pinched him gently on his side.
"Fiona and I wanted to invite your family over for Christmas dinner. Seems like a great time to get to know each other since we're - what was it you called us, dear?"
"Muggles, dad."
"Yes, that was it, Muggles. Since Harry and Hermione are both so gifted it wouldn't hurt for us regular folk to support each other, eh?" Tom said with a wink.
"I think we can take you up on that, right Petunia?" Grant turned to her, "We hadn't had anything planned aside from spending time with Harry."
"That's right, we'll be glad to go." Petunia confirmed.
"We'll look forward to seeing you, then. Did you already give Harry our address, dear?" Fiona asked Hermione, who nodded.
"Wonderful! It's been fantastic to meet you all, but we really must run - we've made a reservation with some out-of-town family for dinner since they wanted to catch up with Hermione after her first semester at 'boarding school'." He made the little quotes with his fingers. The two families parted ways and Harry began to catch Grant and Petunia up on the events of his school year thus far with some heavy redactions.
Putting his trunk into the boot of his father's car, Harry asked his father to stop by the Library before they headed home. His father took the request in stride - it was an amusing reminder of how one-tracked his adopted son's mind was. Before going into the library, Harry held out a silver Sickle to him,
"Er, what is this, son?"
"It's wizard money, dad. I just need to get some change for the copy machine."
Grant took the coin and looked it over, handing it to Petunia to see before grabbing a handful of quid and pence coins from his pocket and giving them over to the Hammer.
"We'll be up front somewhere, probably the new paperbacks." Grant said before Harry bounded out of the car. Inside, Harry beelined for the reference collection's copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. Even if muggle subjects were unreliable and possibly demeaning toward their magical counterparts, he figured the myths and legends involved in their retellings could point him in the right direction.
Harry used up all the change his father had given him on copying related materials on Alchemy, following up his initial search with more notes on the Magnum Opus, or Philosopher's Stone, with their cultural equivalents such as the Cintamani stone. It was a hell of an item if it was real, supposedly capable of transmuting lead to gold, or more importantly granting the owner an elixir that would grant them eternal life. Satisfied with his limited research, the Hammer folded up his notes into his belt pouch and went to find his parents.
Coming home to his room, he set down onto his bed and was immediately bothered by the empty space that had been left by the removal of his thought board. He groaned, fighting the twin urges to ruminate on the case and to be a lazy lump on his mattress. He got out of bed with an exasperated grunt by asking himself 'What would Philip Marlowe do?'.
Christmas in the Mason home was usually a holiday of convenience, one Harry would stay up extra late for if Grant had to work on the day itself. The Hammer could count on one hand the number of late celebrations he had, running out into the cold in his pyjamas to greet his returning father. Thankfully this year looked to be one where Grant wouldn't be caught up with any active casework. Even the criminals had decided to take a break. In the days intervening, the Masons did their Christmas shopping, picking up a bottle of wine to share with the Grangers as well as their own gifts.
The morning of Christmas day, Harry was up before everyone, finding a present waiting under the tree for him. He didn't waste any time bursting into it, finding that it was a wrist-rocket catapult.
"Up early, I see." Grant came plodding down the rest of the stairs and took a seat on the floor next to Harry. The boy leant over and hugged his father, "Thanks, dad!"
"You'll have to thank your mother for this one. I wouldn't have been able to get it if she hadn't given her permission. Remember to be responsible with it. Don't shoot it at anyone or use anything that won't disintegrate on impact."
"Right, right." Harry said, looking down and away while he rolled his eyes. A moment later, he stood and ran over to the kitchen, catching Petunia in a surprise hug.
"Thanks, mum." He said with a smile that matched his age. Petunia placed her hands on his head and let the hug continue, "I got you a present from Hogwarts." The Hammer said to her. Harry let go and ran upstairs to his trunk, drawing out the gift and bringing it back down to her.
Petunia went over to the couch and opened up the wrapping, finding a framed photograph inside. She gasped,
"They move!" Petunia said, running her fingers over the glass as a teenage Lily and James waved back from inside the photo.
"I found it in their club photos at school." Harry explained. Petunia drew Harry into a hug with her free arm while still gazing at the photo. "When I was your age, Lily was always out and about-" Petunia told Harry stories about his mother, old sepia toned childhood memories whose sharp edges had rounded with time and age. Life hadn't been particularly kind to the Evans children, but there was no reason to have anything but love left in their memories. The way Petunia told it, there was a lanky, greasy haired boy from down the street that Lily was friends with who had tried to convince her that she was better than her family because of her ability to do magic. Lily wouldn't hear a word of it. The Hammer couldn't help but be proud of the mother he had never known.
Despite trying to walk Petunia back through the memory, she couldn't remember the name of the friend. The Hammer had wanted to find out so he would be able to hear more stories about his birth mother or even the Potter family if that person had kept in touch with her after they left school.
They left for Christmas dinner in the evening and it turned out that Hermione lived fairly close. Her address was a house in North Hampstead that wasn't much trouble to get to even with last minute Christmas traffic. The Hammer held onto a gift Petunia had helped him wrap the whole way there. The two older Masons exchanged a knowing look and a smile while Harry looked out the window to observe the city passing by around them.
Dr. Granger greeted them at the door, answering after the first three knocks Grant placed on it.
"Grant, Petunia, Harry! Good to see you again. Please, come in, it must be a fright out there." The Masons stepped in, shaking some of the fresh fallen powder from themselves as Grant offered up the bottle of port to Tom.
"Oh, thank you, thank you. Fiona's in the kitchen working on the last bit of preparations before it'll all be ready, but please come on in and have a seat. Harry, I think Hermione's still upstairs in her room, I'll go call her down after I settle this away."
He invited them into the sitting room after they had taken their coats off. Tom put the wine into a chiller underneath the kitchen counter, telling Fiona that the Masons had arrived before walking to the stairs and calling up, "Hermione! Your friend Harry and his family are here!"
"Be right there!" Harry registered Hermione's voice call down faintly from her room.
"-cocious little boy. Has he always-" The Hammer heard the adults mention him in passing conversation. He stopped paying mind to it almost as soon as he had tuned in - it was a familiar conversation about how focused and intelligent he seemed to be for his age. The Hammer had heard the song and dance before, but at least this time there would be another child involved who shared in his own predicament. Hermione came in a few moments later with a small package in her hand, bushy hair tamed just barely into a ponytail. He stood and met her at the entrance of the room.
"Happy Christmas, Harry." She greeted him, holding out the little brightly decorated rectangle.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione." He said with a smirk, holding out his own gift.
"Same time?" He asked. "Same time." She said. They both began ripping apart the wrapping on their presents - Harry made a mess of his like a lion on the savannah while Hermione slipped her index finger under one of the taped folds and ripped it open in a way that let her slide it out from inside.
Harry had gotten her a pair of novels, 'The Maltese Falcon' and 'The Big Sleep' - essential reading for understanding hard boiled detectives and their fiction. Hermione had gotten him a new pocket notebook set, a leather cover on one with a spare fill wrapped with it.
"I love it, thanks Hermione." "Yours was looking full." She replied.
"You were always wondering where I got my ideas from, so I figured it was high time you got a peek into what I like." He explained. "I love it Harry, but what about Bogart?"
"Maybe we can watch one together sometime." She nodded. The two of them stopped, looking back towards the adults. The room had gone silent without either of them noticing. Fiona had even come out to watch. Grant had a shit eating grin on his face. The two kids turned bright red.
At dinner, their parents' conversation inevitably turned toward school and after school activities.
"So Harry, Hermione tells me that you fancy yourself a detective?" Fiona asked him.
"Much as I can, anyway. I'd still like to join the Met like my dad, but in the meanwhile there are a few cases I solve from time to time that people bring me."
"Oh, so like the Hardy Boys?"
"Don't compare me to those two bit hacks," Hermione kicked him under the table, "I've solved my fair share of mysteries."
Mrs. Granger was amused rather than insulted, laughing instead at his precociousness and intellectual seriousness about working as a detective.
Dinner at the Grangers went on late into the night, the Masons excusing themselves after a few polite glasses of the Port. By the time they had gotten home it was a mutual agreement to head straight to bed.
The morning of the day after Christmas, a snowy white owl landed on his sill and tapped against the glass, a small package wrapped up in its claws. Harry opened his window and accepted the package, petting the owl a few times with the back of his hand in thanks. Once the bird had flown off, he took the card from the top of it and opened it. The letter was unsigned but handwritten.
"Your father left this in my care before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very merry Christmas to you." Harry was fairly sure he had seen the handwriting before, putting the letter away to look at it later. Opening the package, he found a large silvery blanket-like cloth that felt like someone had managed to sew together the silkiness of rushing water. It practically hummed with the feeling of magical importance. In a reverential hush, the Hammer opened it up fully, finding that the side facing him was a comforting fuzzy texture, but seeing the back side in the mirror there was… nothing. The Hammer flipped it back and forth a few times like it was a stage magician's trick before draping it over himself and finding that every part that the cloth covered disappeared from sight. He could feel the adrenaline fueled tingling in his fingers as he doffed the cloak and shoved it in his trunk, trying to contain the vibrating excitement he felt as he hurried downstairs. In the living room, he grabbed the receiver base of the phone and dragged the cord as far as he could toward a corner and then dialed Hermione's number, walking toward the most private spot he could reach with the remaining coiled cord.
"Hello, this is Fiona speaking." Her mum picked up the phone.
"Er, hello Mrs. Granger! This is Harry, from yesterday? I was wondering if I could speak to Hermione."
"Oh? Hello there, I'll go get her. Already making plans to see that film?" Harry felt himself flush at the collar and didn't know why. A minute later, a familiar voice came on the line, "Hello?" She asked.
"Hermione, someone mailed me an invisibility cloak. The note that came with it said it was my father's. I think I'm meant to use it to solve the case!"
"What? Harry, slow down! Start from the beginning." So he started with the owl and explained what he had seen.
"Harry do you know what this means? Do you know how powerful an invisibility cloak is?"
"No, do you?"
"No! That's what worries me! It's not like they just sell them at Marks & Spencer's! Even in Diagon Alley, a cloak of true true invisibility is a rare, expensive item!"
"Well, I just inherited one, apparently. It'll be great for solving the case. I've got some more theories I want to talk to you about but I don't know-"
Harry was interrupted by the sound of his father tripping over the extended phone cable and landing on the couch, "Crap, gotta go!"